


A Remedy For Everything

by Elinie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-War, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:47:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25107220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elinie/pseuds/Elinie
Summary: What has he been waiting for, huh? What kind of an unexpected miracle dared he hope for? Have the cynical and cold Fates been favorable to his worthless life at least once, if ever? Stars twinkled in the sky, Snape puffed the circles of blue smoke into the darkness, and a contemptuous grin twisted his lips. There was no longer any need to live by someone else's curved signpost, and this fact slightly upset him. He did not know the answer to the gut-wrenching: "What's next?". "And next, there'd be life, sir,” said that Granger girl, and left his room, he was free to continue staring at the sterile white ceiling of St. Mungo. And drinking his tea. Such a drink, indeed, was a strange panacea among the British, and he could not do anything about it.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	A Remedy For Everything

What has he been waiting for, huh? What kind of an unexpected miracle dared he hope for? Have the cynical and cold Fates been favorable to his worthless life at least once, if ever? Stars twinkled in the sky, Snape puffed the circles of blue smoke into the darkness, and a contemptuous grin twisted his lips. There was no longer any need to live by someone else's curved signpost, and this fact slightly upset him. He did not know the answer to the gut-wrenching: "What's next?". "And next, there'd be life, sir,” said that Granger girl, and left his room, he was free to continue staring at the sterile white ceiling of St. Mungo. And drinking his tea. Such a drink, indeed, was a strange panacea among the British, and he could not do anything about it.

An undesirable dream of the forgotten five-years-old boy, with a snotty nose and a scattering of bruises across his body, floated before his inner eye: a goddamn freak, a nerd who dared to be born in the family of Tobias Snape, who had wasted all his conscience and common sense. The boy wrapped his hands around his dirty knees and stuck his nose into the dusty rags scattered throughout the house. The door slammed, the courtyard filled with curses - his father left to seek solace in some dusty bar. Light steps rustled across the floor, his mother came, she hugged, she wiped away his tears, she put a cracker and a cup of tea in his tiny, bruised hand.

And his life became a little bit less scary.

Fear gripped his heart with its tenacious paws, the endless corridors of the School stretched before his eyes, the Slytherin Dungeons beckoned him with their dampness. The four Marauders drove him away, like a pack of wolves chased a reindeer, but unlike the deer, he was the leader of his nameless pack and he was not afraid to dive under the red flags and confuse his tracks. The niche of the Astronomical Tower was quiet and if a little bit peaceful. And there were the stars, and he desperately wished he could fly. Closer to midnight, Madame Pomfrey found him in his hideaway, shook her head, clicked her tongue, wiped the blood from his broken lip, and called him to the Infirmary for a cup of tea.

Tea from the personal collection of the Dark Lord was exquisite in its perversions. Refined blend, exquisite tea leaf, finest porcelain. And for the first time, Severus was embarrassed at this holiday of sleek nobility, as if he had managed to appear in a solemn robe in a pigsty, but he squeezed a cup in his palms and closed his eyes: fake peacefulness of a fine cup help him ignore someone’s screams, not to notice the taste of blood, and muffle his sense of guilt.

The night when the Potters were gone, and he was wandering around aimlessly, wondering which spell would be the best to use to commit suicide, some prostitute, smiling with a syphilitic lack of teeth, offered him her services and a cup of tea. Such a forgotten gesture of comfort from barefoot childhood struck him, and he agreed.

And then there were dry dusty and blood-viscous meaningless years of throwing himself between the camp of Light and the indifference of Darkness, there were tenacious fingers of fear, there was a leash stretched between his two Masters, there were Dungeons, potions, despair, and tea. When the stars were hiding behind shreds of fog, he went up to the Astronomical Tower and drank tea, cradling in his palms an elegant cup bought for his very first salary. The beggar rag inside him could not do anything with the naive desire to have at least some semblance of beauty in his broken and meaningless life.

Then there was the Granger girl, the gossip among the Deat Eaters, and there were a raid and a warning that he blurted out to her, bypassing the Order, the Headmaster, and all conceivable and unthinkable bans. He was so tired of losing little bits of light in his worthless life. And Granger was too smart for her own good to just give up so easily! She managed to save her parents and save herself, and then she wandered around the corridors of the School aimlessly, and Snape invited her to the Tower to offer a cup of tea and silently stand nearby. And watch the night. And drank tea.

During that senile Horcruxes-Hunt, in the year when hell broke out over his threadbare life, he sometimes came to the forest, where the girl carried a watch, and they shared one flask of tea for two. And he desperately wanted to wrap his arms around her, to warm her icy fingers with his breath and promise that everything would be alright. Snape wanted so desperately for the stars to smile at him from above and for tea to become just tea, and not a universal way of comfort. And remedy for everything.

And then, of course, that Great thrice-damned Battle raged upon them, and he probably would have been a very bad spy if he had not suspected the Lord of his little weakness — to kill when something in his life went wrong. After a close acquaintance with the familiar of the Lord, Snape began to take the antidote, and ... who knows what exactly saved him: maybe the favor of Fate (he barely restrained himself from breaking into laughter into the face of the crazy Lord), maybe Potter’s determination with which he rushed to the very heart of the battle, or maybe, after all, Hermione’s insistence and Griffindorish stubbornness, with which she poured a vial after a vial into his torn throat, banged her fists on the floor, sewed the edges of his wound with dirty threads, swallowed her tears and yelled at him: “Live! You ought to live, Professor! Whom else will I drink this cursed tea of yours with - that cure for everything? ” And who was he not to obey?

He was proclaimed The Innocent, The Warrior of Light, The Tragic Hero! Snape cursed through his clenched teeth - people were impossible in their stupidity and in their desire to create sparkling idols for themselves. He hid from everyone, engaged in private practice, bought a house, planted a herbal garden, demolished a shack in Spinner's End. In a word, he went on through life, not looking back at the past, the past which had never left him for a minute. Twice a year, he traditionally yelled at Granger, saying that he did not need her pity, nor her help, nor, moreover, her company. Twice a year, she sat on his porch and drank tea with brandy. He went out onto the porch and plopped down beside her. She fell asleep on his shoulder: a brilliant witch of her generation, who had become the shadow of herself.

Snape did not know what kind of plague cursed her famous intellect, but when everyone went on through life, she remained standing at the crossroads. Unsuccessful marriage (and what else could you expect from a Quidditch Weasley freak?), Potter, trapped with a bunch of ankle-biters, and a forever pregnant Ginevra, an empty apartment where only her half-life was waiting for her, a brilliant career that she did not need anymore? He understood Hermione too well to stoop to comment, and she knew about it.

Strange feelings bound them together, love that fits into a cup of tea, but that seemed to be enough.

Discarding all prejudices, Snape knocked on the door of her apartment, not waiting for allotted to him twice a year. She opened, yawning fiercely, and wrapping herself deeper in a shaggy Muggle green gown. Snape went inside, not waiting for an invitation: it seemed they had known everything about each other already.

Later, sitting in her cozy kitchen and cradling a cup of Chinese porcelain, which he presented to her once in a fit of ridiculous sentimentality, Snape carefully set the tea down on the table and pulled Hermione closer.

"Move in with me, I’m tired of waiting for our "twice a year".

“I thought you would never ask.”

“The Slytherins have always been famous for balanced decisions, Miss Granger, I'll have you know.”

She put a finger to his lips and decided not to comment on this familiar flash of snarkiness, she loved so much.

And then they drank tea on the balcony, stars shone from the sky, and who knows, maybe the aromatic drink was really a remedy for everything?

The end.


End file.
